Remarkably Bad Ideas
by kalina16
Summary: The thing about Peter is that he's remarkably capable of provoking emotion from people. So when someone decides to take advantage of that fact, the Guardians react. Poorly.


**So my writing schedule's pretty much "start a bunch of fics sporadically and finish them in bursts" now. Ah well. Also, apparently I take out my bad days on my favorite characters. I'm so sorry, Peter. Also, I may have to delete this later because it's sloppy and lazy. I'm sorry T-T. SHAME.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Peter's been captured many times in his life- life of a Ravager and all- but this has to be one of the less enjoyable occasions. Partially because he is crammed into a containment cell with four other very angry and pissed- off people, one of whom has not stopped going on about how he can't <em>believe<em> they were captured, _man_, _Quill, this was a stupid plan-_

Oh well. At least he can still keep an eye on them this way. Even if he desperately wants to punch Rocket through the cell wall.

Their captor, a burly, orange-skinned alien with obvious delusions of grandeur, is gesturing wildly, demanding the Guardians tell him where the refugees they were in the process of rescuing ran to (they should be on their way to Xandar by now, but it's not like he needs to know that) and demanding they surrender and tell him all their darkest secrets and all the normal, megalomaniac villainous bullshit. It's kind of wearing.

They've taken all their weapons, of course, but not his mask-maybe they think he needs it to breathe? Peter pays it no mind-it's not like the mask can fire bullets at any rate. Besides, the orange-skinned dude-Cerin, he thinks, if he remembers the mission dossier correctly-is looking like he's getting ready to take drastic measures.

Peter's fears soon prove themselves true when he barks at his guards and a particularly evil, muscular looking one produces a whip. Peter is frantically thinking of a plan when Cerin's voice cuts through his thoughts.

"Take the girl."

It takes only a second for his words to sink in, and Peter sees _red_. The guard is opening the cell and reaching for Gamora, and _no, no, no, they won't touch her, he won't let them_-

He throws himself at the guard with a shout of anger, tackling him to the floor.

In hindsight, it's not the smartest move, he thinks, as the other guard kicks him viciously in the head, stars exploding in his vision as he feels his mask's attachment shatter, the intricate covering disintegrating as his head snaps to the side.

Over Gamora's panicked cry and the outraged roars of Rocket and Drax and-is that Groot?-he hears Cerin laugh.

"Well look at that. It's a Terran." Beneath the surge of anger he feels at being called an _it_, Peter feels the stirrings of fear.

"A fragile, fragile Terran," Cerin continues as the guards haul him up, Gamora's cry of "_Let him go!_" echoing oddly in his ears.

Cerin glances at the others- Rocket's bared teeth, Drax's savage glare, Groot's angry growling, and Gamora's panicked but furious snarl. He smiles.

"On second thought, let's use you. You seem to get good enough of a reaction."

Peter's stomach drops.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_- all that can run through Peter's mind as he is dragged out of the holding cell, Gamora shrieking curses as she is held back behind him. Stupid, _stupid_ Terran -but better him than her. Anything is better than that.

It is that thought that makes him clench his hands, clamping down hard on the spiking fear as he gives Gamora and the others what he hopes is a cocky grin. It's much too shaky. The pompous idiot above him is droning on about necessary measures, of _maybe this will convince them to cooperate-_ stupid stuff that Peter hopes the others are ignoring.

His hands are tied roughly against the metal pole in front of him, and he watches faintly as his shirt is torn from his back, the muffled sounds of Rocket and Drax yelling threats and Gamora promising death behind him. The entire thing feels a bit surreal-he knows what is about to happen, but his physical reaction just needs to catch up. He knows he needs to steel himself. He's no stranger to pain, and this is no different-he just needs to hold out, he can't show any fear, any reaction, because the others are watching and he's their leader and Gamora's face is becoming more devastated by the minute-

He is so intent on steeling himself that he completely misses the swing of a whip until it hits his back.

It _hurts._ Holy _shit_, that _really, really hurts_-the smallest of gasps escapes his tightly clenched lips as he jerks forwards, a line of fire tracing its way across his skin. He can feel the blood trickling down his back amongst the burning-he tries to focus on that.

Drax is yelling loudly from the cell and Gamora is spitting curses so violently he's surprised the guards aren't falling over from the force-

Another explosion of white-hot agony snakes across his back, carving through his skin just below the first, and he chokes back another cry as he jerks forwards again.

It's not that bad, it's not that bad, he's had worse, he's had worse, he just needs to fight through.

He forces a grin onto his face, practically leering at the guards as he spits at Cerin.

"That all you got?"

It's beyond stupid, he knows, but the twist to Cerin's face is worth it, his teammates' exasperated groaning instead of their panicked cries. The satisfaction lasts about a second.

The third strike hits, crossing over the first and slicing down from his shoulder. His eyes close tightly as he bites trough his lip, the copper taste of blood filling his mouth. He concentrates on that pain, hones in on it as if he can forget the three pulsating lines of agony burning on his back.

It doesn't work. There's a fourth and a fifth and a sixth hit and it's literal hell, his agonized cry held at bay by the fraying threads of his will.

His back feels as if it's been lit on fire, and there are dark spots flickering in front of his eyes as his wrists pull hard against the ropes, scraping and drawing blood. Except he doesn't even feel that pain because _holy hell_, his back is in _agony_-

The whip slashes again and he's lost count, a hoarse scream finally ripped from his throat. Pathetic, it's so pathetic, and he needs to stop because his team is yelling frantically in the background, desperate calls that sound like they're underwater.

But he never, ever learns, because the next strikes are more painful than the last, and all he can do is cry out and hope against hope that someone figures something out soon.

Because he's sure as hell not going to.

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><p>The thing about Peter Quill is that he's able to provoke every range of every emotion Gamora's ever tried to suppress. It's infuriating, how good at evoking emotions from her he is.<p>

Right now, however, it is agonizing.

"Maybe now, you will tell us?" Cerin asks, his tone sickly sweet as he bends over Peter, tilting his chin up.

His skin is sweat-soaked and he looks awful, face ashen and lips bloody, but Peter shakes his head, swallowing, and glares. He spits out the dirtiest sentence she has ever heard and pays for it with a slap and another slash, another scream.

Her blood is roaring in her ears, the horrible sensation of helplessness gripping her as she throws herself into the containment field again and again, her nerve endings scarcely registering the defensive shock as she beats against it because Peter is hurt, Peter is screaming, and she is failing him-

She curses loudly, pulling back to kick at the field furiously. Drax and Groot have ceased their attempts to stop her-they are right beside her now, Drax rattling the containment field as he slams against it and Groot roaring, slamming hard branches inches away from her own fists. She cannot see Rocket, cannot hear his own venomous curses anymore, but she doesn't care because _Peter-_

"You can end this any time, you know," Cerin's voice cuts through her rage, the whip's swinging temporarily halting as Peter crumples against the pole, panting heavily as the blood drips from his back to the floor. She is going to _rip his throat out._

He turns to them, eyebrows raised.

"Well, _Guardians of the Galaxy_," he says, the name drenched in mockery. "Will you spare your friend and tell me now? "

Gamora's teeth clench, fists bunching tightly as she glares at him- but the temptation is _horrible_.

"No," Peter gasps out, voice cracked and laced with pain. "Don't."

Gamora squeezes her eyes closed, Groot growling low besides her. She opens them and meets Drax's eyes, his face equally torn and pained.

"No," she grits out, refusing to even look at Peter, her heart squeezing painfully. "We cannot."

Cerin's lip curls.

"Very well," he says, nodding to the guard. "But I promise you, it will only get worse."

The guard steps forward, the whip whistling through the air as it cracks against Peter's back, his agonized cry echoing through the room, tearing at Gamora's heart.

"_No!_" she shrieks, throwing herself at the containment field again, vision blurring as the whip cracks down again, and again, and again-

"Get back!" It's a show of what faith she has in Rocket, as she throws herself back at his barking command, eyes still glued on Peter. And she's glad she does, because a second later-

_Boom._

-the containment field explodes.

The nearest guards are blasted to the ground, Cerin going down with a panicked cry. She pays them no mind-she has eyes only for Peter, beaten and bleeding and slumped against the pole. She throws herself forwards, kicking a struggling guard in the head as she passes. She's vaguely aware of the others fighting the remaining guards as she slides next to Peter, cupping his face.

"Peter-Peter, please-"

His eyes blink open wearily, glazed with pain but aware.

"G'mora," he says faintly, but there is affection in his voice. "You guys…took your time." She manages a half-hysterical laugh, dropping his face as she reaches to tug frantically at his bonds.

"Is that how you thank us?" she says, edges of panic just evident in her voice. The ropes are firmer than she thought-but she does not have genetic enhancements for nothing. With a sharp _snap_ she rips the ropes apart, and Peter's wrists drop to his lap wearily, eyes shuttering closed with relief as he sags against her. She presses a quick kiss to his brow, her own relief surging.

"We have to go," she says after a beat, the sounds of battle drawing nearer. She pulls him up gently, suppressing the surge of anger she feels as his face goes white, biting his lip as he always does when in pain. No one does this to Peter and lives. She's going to see to that.

"Okay," he breathes out. "Okay, let's go-_look out!_"

But she's already ducking under the swing, pulling Peter down with her, the widening of his eyes cluing her in before his panicked warning. Shoving Peter behind her she whirls around, facing the guard with bared teeth.

The guard grins, raising his knife-he's apparently taken her weaponless state as her being defenseless. Which makes him an idiot-he either has no idea of who he's dealing with or he's utterly missed the sheer carnage that's resulting behind him as Drax, Groot, and Rocket dispose of the other guards.

Either way, he has responsibility in hurting Peter-in short, he'd be better off dead. He seems to realize this as she charges him with a feral grin, batting the knife away with ease and slamming him to the ground.

All the guards, Cerin included, seem to be realizing this. The person they chose to torture was effective-too effective. No one hurts one of the Guardian's own and makes it out to tell the tale.

"Stay there!" she yells at Peter, darting forward to attack the next guard.

"Don't think I have a choice," she hears Peter say faintly as she disarms the guard. Turning to the others she feels a surge of satisfaction, the other guards scattered around the floor, moaning. That just leaves Cerin-

_Click_.

She freezes, hyper aware of his gun's train directly over her heart. She can feel the others stopped behind her, eyeing Cerin wearily. A wicked grin spreads across his face, exaggerating his split lip. Gamora cannot remember a time she's felt stupider.

"Now," he says. "That was unnecessary." Gamora growls at him, but she does not move, the gun still trained directly at her heart. At these close quarters, there is little doubt in her mind the he will miss. Judging by the groans of frustration from behind her, she's guessing the others realize the same.

"However," he continues. "I did just decide that I only need one of you." His finger wraps around the trigger and Gamora's mind stops, caught in the awful fight or flight reaction, and _damnit it's going to get her killed-_

A sharp blast echoes through the room, the clear sound of a gun going off. Gamora jerks back, eyes wide as she braces herself for the pain-

-that never comes. She blinks. Glances down. There's a distinct lack of a hole in her chest.

Cerin frowns, staring at his blaster, then blinks as well. His eyes drop down to the growing dark stain in his middle. His face pales, hands limply falling to his sides as he drops to his knees.

"You-how," he sputters out, blood flecking his lips.

"That's what you get, you sadistic bastard."

Gamora's head jerks to the side, towards the corner where she'd left Peter. The idiot, her wonderful, beautiful, beyond stupid idiot, is barely standing, swaying on his feet as he holds the still-smoking blaster in his hands, a fierce glare on his face.

"Don't ever threaten her."

And then he collapses.

"Peter!" she cries, flying to his side, the others close behind her. She pulls him up, jerking her hands back in horror as she accidently brushes his bloodied back.

"Ow- ow ow ow ow _ow-" _Peter hisses, squeezing his eyes closed. "Shit, that was _not_ fun-"

"Idiot," Rocket growls out, voice thick. "That was the stupidest damn thing I've ever seen. Gettin' yourself tortured. Typical."

"Had to," Peter gasps out as Gamora and Drax carefully helped him to his feet, draping his arms over their shoulders. "Would've happened to one of us- _mph_- anyways."

"And who gave you the right to pick yourself?" Gamora demands, all too-aware of why he ended up in this position in the first place.

"I'm the- leader," Peter breathes. "Responsibility…and shit."

"Yeah, well you're also the most breakable," Rocket shoots, scanning the corridors as they exit the prison. A shadow crosses Peter's face at the mention. Gamora squeezes his arm.

"He means you're irreplaceable," she says softly. "I am used to torture. We can function if one of us goes down- because you're there to lead us. If you aren't-" she shakes her head.

"It is a leader's responsibility to look out for the best interests of his team," Drax says. "It is in our best interest to have you functional."

"Screw that," Rocket says angrily. "It's in everyone's best interest not to fricking _get tortured-_" he breaks off, fists clenching. "Idiots," he mutters.

"I am Groot," Groot says plaintively, gazing at Peter. Gamora glances at him- his face is still too-white, tensed in pain- but there is also an inscrutable expression there, one of half-pain and half-happiness.

"Peter?" she asks as they reach the prison doors, the _Milano_ in sight. He shakes his head.

"You guys're all dumb," he says, voice slurring. "An' I love you all. You do care."

Gamora rolls her eyes.

"You're just getting this?"

"I just care about your food, that's all." Rocket growls, but they're all grinning by now.

"Love you too," Peter says tiredly, wincing as they climb into the _Milano_.

"You're all a bunch of saps," Rocket growls.

Gamora sighs. It's her own fault, choosing to live with these morons. Choosing such an emotionally whip-lashing person to fall in love with.

But, she thinks, as she gently bandages Peter's back, pausing to press her head on his shoulder, his own head leaning on top of hers, she wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
